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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28731567">don’t put all your eggs in one carton, or whatever</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/katethereader/pseuds/acotars'>acotars (katethereader)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coitus Interruptus, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Misunderstandings, Past Relationship(s), or DO they ??????, rhys and feyre are mor's parents who hate each other</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:27:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,647</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28731567</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/katethereader/pseuds/acotars</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Mor is drunk and sad at a frat party, so she texts Feyre asking for a ride home. Completely coincidentally, Mor also texts Rhysand for a ride, which Feyre only discovers when he arrives. Just her luck.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Feyre Archeron/Rhysand</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>93</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>don’t put all your eggs in one carton, or whatever</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>There's referenced past (and current!) cheating. Mor is a chaotic wlw who can't cook. this entire story started as essentially a love letter to modern college au mor &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Mor, you dumb piece of ass, get up,” Feyre said, pushing the hair out of Mor’s face. The golden-haired girl lay across the couch at Kallias’s, her shoes missing and her hair askew. She was utterly wasted, though Feyre wasn’t surprised.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>Need u to pcik meup.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>  Im at viviviv’s andim so drunk ahah. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>rt if life is hard and then u die xx</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>The texts had Feyre pausing her marathon of The Chef Show, swapping her slippers for sneakers and heading out into the stupidly cold, stupidly late night. Only for Mor would she go to these lengths. Maybe her sisters, though she’d certainly grumble a bit more. But for Morrigan, her tenacious and strong and infectiously funny best friend, she’d brave the frat live-outs, weave through the guys doing jägerbombs, and get her friend home with no complaints. </p><p>Or at least, very few complaints. </p><p>Okay, fine. A moderate amount of complaints. </p><p>Mor opened her eyes and smiled up at Feyre, her cheeks rosy and warm, her eyes sparkling and content. She was like if champagne was a person. </p><p>Then very suddenly, Mor’s eyes widened, turned bloodshot, squeezed shut. </p><p>“I’m—I’m gonna—” Mor said, voice thick. Feyre knew the look all too well and she scanned the dark, crowded room for any sign of a bathroom. There was one she could see on this floor, but some drunk frat guy was currently peeing, with what appeared to be shoddy accuracy.</p><p>“We’re going to have to get you upstairs. Can you make it upstairs?” Feyre asked, guiding Mor up to a sitting position, then slowly having her stand.</p><p>Mor swallowed thickly and nodded. Feyre marched her up the stairs and thankfully, they made it just in time. Feyre sat on the edge of the peach-colored tub and held Mor’s golden curls back as she retched, crying between heaves that she loved Feyre and she hated Andie and life was horrible. </p><p>“Andie?” Feyre asked. “What happened with Andie?”</p><p>Andie—Andromache—was Mor’s girlfriend of two months. Not very long in the grand scheme of things, but things like that tended to get intense quickly with Mor. She didn’t halfass anything. </p><p>“Cheated,” Mor said, leaning her cheek against the seat. </p><p>“She cheated on you?” Feyre said, disbelieving. </p><p>Mor shook her head gently, and Feyre had to regather the pieces of hair that fell from her grip. </p><p>“She cheated on her boyfriend. With me. I’m the other woman,” Mor said, then spit into the bowl.</p><p>Feyre had been cheated on, and she knew just how ugly it felt to be blindsided by the fact that you weren’t enough. She couldn’t imagine what it must have felt like for Mor, not only to feel that way, but to have the added guilt of being the one to come second. To be the one getting in the way of another. </p><p>Mor spit again. “Everything in the world is garbage. Except for you, Feyre. And Rhys.”</p><p>“Rhys?” she asked.</p><p>Just then, a series of knocks rapped against the bathroom door. </p><p>“Mor? Are you in there? Viv said you were sick,” came a familiar voice. A voice smooth like velvet or molten silver or jasmine blossoms floating down a crystal-clear stream. “I just saw your text. I came as fast as I could.”</p><p>“‘M in here,” Mor called.</p><p>The door opened and Rhysand stepped in, covering his nose with a hand. Mor’s cousin was as breathtakingly handsome as ever. His raven hair was mussed slightly, his stubble standing out against his tan skin. He wore a black denim jacket and Feyre itched to fix his collar where the corner had popped out awkwardly. But her dynamic with Rhys was fragile enough as it was, so she refrained. </p><p>Shock registered on his face when he saw Feyre sitting there. She knew his expression must have mirrored hers.</p><p>“What are you doing here?” Feyre and Rhys asked each other in unison.</p><p>“She texted me,” they said again simultaneously. They both turned to glare at Mor, whose cheeks flamed.</p><p>“Don’t put all your eggs in one carton, or whatever.” Mor always got very idiomatic when she drank too much. “I texted you both so if one of you didn’t respond I’d still have a good backup to get me home.”</p><p>“Well I sure am glad I raced over here then,” Rhysand said. “It’s not like I was on a date or anything.”</p><p>“You were on a date?” Mor asked loudly, conspicuously. She was bad at feigning ignorance when she was drunk. “I completely forgot.” </p><p>Feyre looked up at Rhysand, expecting him to be irritated, but he just looked down at his cousin fondly. This wasn’t their first rodeo, obviously. </p><p>“Well,” Rhysand said, looking up at Feyre, “I’ve got it from here, if you want to go.”</p><p>“It’s fine,” she said. “I’m already here. Get back to your date.”</p><p>Even as she said it though, she kind of wanted to take it back. She didn’t like the idea of Rhysand on a date. It wasn’t like Feyre had any right to feel that way. They’d just maintained this tightrope walk for years; they flirted and bickered to deflect the very real attraction simmering under the surface. Or, at least Feyre did. But every time she let herself really consider it, she either remembered he was not the type to settle down, became intimidated by his experience, or he said something to really piss her off. That last one tended to happen pretty often. They were at each other’s throats more often than not.</p><p>He waved a hand. “She took off already. Go home, Feyre. I’ve got this.” </p><p>And there it was. The pissing off. A wave of defensiveness rolled over her. She was here first, and she wasn’t going to let Rhysand tell her when to go home. </p><p>“I said I’ve got it. She’s my best friend; I’m not leaving.”</p><p>“Well she’s <em>my</em> cousin—”</p><p>Rhysand was cut off by Mor’s loud shushing. “Many hands make light work. Help me up.”</p><p>Feyre stood from the lip of the tub and grabbed under one of Mor’s armpits as Rhys stepped forward and grabbed the other. Together, they lifted her and walked her to the sink. Mor rinsed out her mouth and scrubbed her face, laughing, then crying at her reflection. </p><p>“What happened?” Rhys whispered to Feyre over the sound of the faucet. His breath smelled exceptionally minty.</p><p>“Andie,” she replied. “Andie’s had a boyfriend this whole time.”</p><p>Rhysand uttered a string of curses.</p><p>Mor turned and slumped against his chest, slinging her arm over his neck and turning her face into his shirt. When she pulled back, his shirt was soaked and mascara-streaked, but he didn’t seem to mind. </p><p>Mor began to slip forward, so Feyre stepped in and grabbed the back of her torso, steadying her long enough for Rhysand to wrap a hand around her back and hold her to him. Feyre took the brief moment of closeness to reach up and fix Rhysand’s collar. He looked down at her and fought a smile as she smoothed the wrinkle that made it pop.</p><p>“Thanks,” he said softly. </p><p>“It was bugging me,” she said, even as her cheeks flamed. </p><p>Mor’s shoulders shook once, and then she was clutching the front of Rhys’s t-shirt, sobbing. </p><p>“I loved her. Why would she do this to me?”</p><p>“Mor, you only knew her for two months,” Rhys said, trying to lighten her up.</p><p>“It’s not funny, you dick. I really think I loved her.”</p><p>Rhysand frowned. Feyre could see how bad he felt, how he hated seeing his cousin in pain and being powerless to fix it. It was written all over his face. Feyre understood now that the oversized heart wasn’t a Mor thing; it ran in the family. </p><p>“Let’s get you home and in bed,” Rhysand said. </p><p>“Varian’s over tonight,” Mor grumbled. “I told Amren she could have the place to herself.”</p><p>“You can stay at my place,” Feyre offered. “My bed’s big enough for two.”</p><p>Mor wiped her nose with Rhys’s tee, then smiled at Feyre. </p><p>“You’re so radiant. You are an angel,” Mor stage-whispered. “I’m so obsessed with you.”</p><p>She hissed all the <em> s </em>’s like a snake and Feyre fought a smile. Mor was a piece of work, but she was Feyre’s piece of work. </p><p>“I’ll get her loaded up in your car then,” Rhysand said, readying Mor for the walk down the stairs and out the door. </p><p>“I’m the volvo,” Feyre said, passing him her key ring. “Just gonna run around and collect her things.” </p><p>It took Feyre several minutes to reach the car, after some random freshman accused her of stealing her jacket, which Feyre obviously didn’t do, since Mor’s name was literally written on the inside tag. Freshmen and frat houses and jackets were the worst combination. Mor’s duo-chrome boots had also been kicked off at the foot of Vivian and Kallias’s bed at some point, and Feyre saw a lot of platinum blond hair in places she desperately wished she could unsee trying to retrieve them. </p><p>Rhysand had buckled Mor into the passenger seat, started the car to get the heated seats going, and rolled down the passenger-side window. He was definitely a forward thinker. When he saw Feyre, he slid out of the driver’s seat and held the door open.</p><p>“Thanks for loading her up,” Feyre said. She climbed into the car.</p><p>“Thanks for taking her home,” he replied, clicking her door into place. “It was really good to see you, Feyre.”</p><p>“Wait,” Mor moaned. “Rhys can’t go. I need him.”</p><p>Rhysand looked pointedly at Feyre. The glance seemed to convey a strained <em> Oh god. </em></p><p>“You’re going over to Feyre’s place,” Rhysand said. “I don’t want to impose. She’s got you covered.”</p><p>“No,” she whined. “Feyre, tell him he can stay with us. I’m in my time of need.”</p><p>Feyre rolled her eyes, but looked up at Rhysand anyway. “You’re always welcome at my place. I think the couch is taken, but I have a camping cot and an unreasonable number of pillows and blankets.”</p><p>“Are you sure?” Rhysand whispered. “I can tell her no.”</p><p>“It’s really no big deal. You’re welcome to follow us over there and then take off when she’s asleep. Otherwise, camping cot. It’s just—overnight street parking is a bitch in my neighborhood.”</p><p>Rhysand thought for a moment, then inclined his head as if to say he’d given up, and climbed into the backseat. She’d just drive him back to his car in the morning. </p><p>Tarquin was still out when they pulled up to Feyre’s apartment. He was probably at Cress’s place, but Feyre had no idea if he’d be home. </p><p>Rhys helped lug Mor up the stairs, then set her down gently on the couch. Feyre grabbed a couple of spare blankets and a pillow and tucked Mor in.</p><p>“Don’t leave me,” Mor said, stretching one hand over the edge of the sofa to dangle above the ground. </p><p>Rhysand sat on the floor and leaned back against the couch, catching Mor’s hand in his own. Feyre slumped down next to him with a sigh. Mor’s hand rested between their shoulders. </p><p>“I’m not going anywhere,” Rhys said. </p><p>“Why would she do this to me?” Mor asked. Her words still slurred, but there was a heartbreaking clarity in her voice too. “How can anyone do this to someone else?”</p><p>“I wish I knew, babe,” Feyre whispered. She reached over her shoulder to stroke Mor’s hair off her forehead. “We all have the capacity for great love and great cruelty. Some people have a harder time telling the difference, I think.”</p><p>Tears leaked from Mor’s eyes and soaked into the fabric of the sofa cushion.</p><p>“When Miryam slept with Drakon, I thought my heart had split in two,” Rhys said quietly. “Do you remember that? I was a wreck. That was the first time I ever failed a class. But look at us all now: almost four years later and Miryam and Drakon are happily engaged and I’m thriving in my own way.”</p><p>Feyre had no idea Rhysand had been cheated on. Or that he’d ever been with anyone seriously enough to care about that person having multiple partners. In the three or so years she’d known him, he’d always been a serial romantic. It was part of what kept him off-limits in Feyre’s mind. She wasn’t typically the one-night stand type. She was too scared of having her heart broken.</p><p>“Bad example,” Mor grumbled. </p><p>“When Tamlin cheated on me,” Feyre said, “or at least when I found out, I kicked him to the curb. He and Ianthe started dating, with me out of the picture, but you know what? Things still crashed and burned within three weeks.” </p><p>They hadn’t just broken up; Ianthe threw a basket of his things out the third story window of her sorority house. Everyone coming out of their noon lectures saw it. Apparently he’d cheated on her too, with his TA. </p><p>“People who cheat tend to cheat a lot,” Feyre said. “There’s no guarantee that even if Andie left her boyfriend tomorrow and begged for you to take her back that she wouldn’t sleep with someone else. Maybe not right away, but eventually. She broke your trust, and you don’t want to stay with someone you can’t trust.”</p><p>“You’re right,” Mor groaned into the now-wet pillow. “I know you’re right. But it still hurts. And a big part of me still hopes she’ll crawl back and we can be together. How sick is that?”</p><p>“It’s not sick at all,” Rhys said. “Do you know how many times I wished for that? Even now, when I couldn’t be happier that the two of them found each other, I sometimes wish they’d break up or crash and burn, just to know that it wasn’t me.”</p><p>Feyre got the satisfaction of watching Tamlin and Ianthe fail. Miserably. In her experience, it still wasn’t enough. </p><p>“The most important thing,” Feyre said, “is that you didn’t do anything to deserve this. You know that, right? You didn’t do anything to serve this.”</p><p>Mor nodded and hiccuped and after a few minutes of Rhys clutching her hand and Feyre stroking her hair, she fell asleep. </p><p>“Let’s grab that cot,” Feyre whispered. Rhys nodded, and the two of them quietly stood. He followed her down the short hall to her room. </p><p>Feyre couldn’t remember if Rhys had ever been to her apartment before. She’d only hosted a couple parties at her place over the year, because the living area was small and her downstairs neighbor was the kind of boring meanie to knock a broom against the ceiling if she or Tarquin made noise past 11 p.m., as if this wasn’t a college town full of college students. She couldn’t be sure if Rhys had ever shown up to any of the few parties she’d thrown. She hazarded a guess that he’d been at least once, but Feyre was suddenly certain he’d never seen her bedroom any of those times. </p><p>It wasn’t like her room was a particularly sacred place for Feyre; she had a double bed, a desk, a dresser, and a mirror, plus some art on the walls and a travel-sized easel in the corner for the rare times inspiration struck. She’d never minded having people in her room before. But something about the low light and the heavy topic and the fact that it was Rhysand, and he still wore that black denim jacket… Feyre was keyed up. Not exactly nervous, just — anticipatory. Aware.</p><p>Rhys stepped into her room and sat on the corner of her bed. </p><p>“I didn’t know that — about Tamlin,” he said. “You were dating him when we met, and then a few months later you weren’t, but Mor told me not to ask about it.”</p><p>“Yeah, I was in a bad place about it for a while. Eventually I realized, I wasn’t in the best place while I was with him either.”</p><p>“He seemed like a scumbag.”</p><p>“He was,” she said. There was a lot of shit wrong with Tamlin, and her relationship with him. It was a can of worms she was too tired to dig into, so she leaned back against the wall.</p><p>“I didn’t know about Miryam either,” she said. “I never took you for… never mind.”</p><p>“Never took me for what?”</p><p>“The monogamous type,” she said. It sounded harsh on her tongue, part of why she’d held it back to begin with. Rhys didn’t laugh or frown, he just looked in his lap.</p><p>“I wasn’t, for a long time after that,” he said. “In retrospect, Miryam and I were really not that serious. But it was my first real relationship, and when she told me about Drakon I was blindsided. For a long time after that, I decided I was done committing myself to people.”</p><p>The rest of the story hung unspoken in the air: he slept with just about anything that moved, and shirked all attachments for fear of getting hurt.</p><p>“And now?” </p><p>“Now, I’m starting to rethink.” </p><p>Feyre’s heart did a stupid flip. She had to remind herself that even though Rhysand was here, in her room, on her bed, telling her deeply personal stories about his past relationships… he’d started the evening on a date with someone else. </p><p>“Hence the date tonight,” she said. Feyre hoped the edge of resentment in her voice went unnoticed. </p><p>Rhys opened his mouth, and closed it. At a loss for words. </p><p>“The date tonight was… yeah, I guess you could say that. At the very least, it solidified for me that I don’t just want sex anymore. I want a real connection with someone.”</p><p>Feyre nodded curtly and whirled towards the closet. This conversation was hurting a lot more than she’d expected. Hot tears pricked the backs of her eyes. She slid open the closet door so he couldn’t see her in its mirrored front, and reached up on her tiptoes for the camping cot she kept stowed on the very top shelf. Her fingertips barely brushed it as she strained. </p><p>“Here, let me,” Rhys said, and he was suddenly behind her with a steadying hand on her back. Her shirt had ridden up as she stretched, and his warm hand made contact with the small of her back. Her breath hitched, her cheeks flamed, and she turned away. </p><p>“Sorry,” he breathed, pulling his hand away. Her skin prickled, craving the contact again.</p><p>Feyre turned back, and he stood so much closer than she’d thought. Her nose practically brushed against his chest. She looked up, slowly, to see his eyes smoldering. Rhys looked down at her with such intensity, her breath hitched again. </p><p>His eyes flicked to her lips, and she looked at his, and god, she had never wanted to be kissed more. But this wasn’t right. He’d just told her about his date, and wanting to leave his casual lifestyle behind. She couldn’t get in the way of that.</p><p>“Rhys, I—” she started to protest, but he silenced her with his lips on hers. </p><p>He waited, hesitantly, for her to break it off or step away. When she didn’t, when she wound a hand around his shoulder to grip the hair at the nape of his neck, he pulled her into him. His arms were strong and unwavering as he clutched her waist and her back and her hip and her neck. He lifted one hand to her cheek, his long fingers splaying all the way down her jaw. His lips were warm and soft and gentle and bruising. Desperation laced every moment.</p><p>This was the kiss people wrote songs and poems about. This was the kiss that launched ships and sunk them. This was everything. </p><p>When he came up for air, she pulled him back under. Teeth clashed. His other hand went to her cheek, then her hair. Her scrunchie hit the floor, and her hair fanned out around her shoulders in a crazy tangle. </p><p>Feyre slid her fingers from the back of his neck down, under the collar of his jacket, and back around the front. His jacket loosened then slipped down his shoulders, stuck around his biceps. Following her lead, Rhys shucked his jacket off the rest of the way. She clung to his bare arms, desperate for every inch of warm skin she could reach. </p><p>As she clung to his biceps, he lifted, and in an instant she was airborne and wrapping her legs around his middle. The open closet door dug into her back, splitting her shoulder blades, but she didn’t give a damn. There was only Rhysand, and his lips and his arms and his warmth, and the pull in her abdomen that demanded <em> more, more</em>. </p><p>Her legs started aching so she wrapped them tighter, drawing him closer, and Rhysand <em> groaned </em> against her lips. It was the most attractive sound she’s ever heard. Feyre pulled her lips away from his just long enough to breathe, just long enough to rest her forehead against his and look in his eyes. His pupils were blown impossibly wide, his irises practically violet in the low light, and he looked right at her with intensity and desire and a silent question.</p><p>She nodded, unable to do anything else but claim his lips again. His hands slid up from under her butt to her waist, grabbing her shirt and skimming her skin as they went. They broke apart so he could lift her shirt over her head. He spied her lace bra and groaned again, and God, what that sound did to her.</p><p>Her hips rolled against his abdomen of their own accord but — <em> ow. </em></p><p>“Belt,” she said against his lips. “Belt hurts.”</p><p>“Take it off,” he said. Breathlessly. “Please.”</p><p>Feyre braced herself further against the closet for a moment so she could snake a hand down to his belt buckle. It took longer than necessary, since Rhysand refused to remove his mouth from her neck as she fumbled blindly with the leather and the buckle. Though when he sucked lightly on that one spot, the one that sent shivers down her spine, she didn’t complain. Not one bit. </p><p>When she finally loosened the buckle, he helped her pull the band through all the many, many loops of his pants. Feyre snapped it in the air like a whip, making him smile against her lips, and then tossed it away. She settled back against his front, and he hissed.</p><p>Belt gone, she reached down between them again to find the hem of his shirt. He pushed her back against the closet to give her more access, but the metal door dug the wrong way into her shoulder and she cried out. </p><p>He stilled instantly, scanning her to see where she was hurt. Feyre shook her head.</p><p>“Bed,” she grunted. Already her body was screaming, craving his again. Wanting more. </p><p>Rhysand lifted her off the wall and carried her to the bed, her legs still straddling his hips. He laid her down on her back, her butt a few inches from the edge of the bed, then pulled away for half a second to pull his tee shirt over his head and toss it. </p><p>Feyre knew Rhysand was fit. She just hadn’t realized <em> how </em> fit, not until she was face to face with all the many inches of muscle definition. Rhys was lean but undeniably strong, all hard lines and planes. She felt the pull deep in her core, missing the contact of his hips and his hands and his body so much she actually whimpered. </p><p>From deep in his throat came this utterly masculine sound, somewhere between a groan and a growl, as he slid back atop her. She wound her hands from his abs, over his chest, and around his neck, as he pressed his hips into hers. </p><p>His hands, so warm and large, brushed her cheeks and traveled down to her breasts. Her whole body stood at attention, ready and waiting for him. She inclined her hips and rolled and <em> God.</em></p><p>From this new angle, she could feel him pressing against her with stunning clarity. The feel of his hips grinding into hers threatened to drive her mad. He reached behind her and unhooked her bralette. Her nipples puckered in the cool air, achingly tight. He brushed one with the rough pad of his thumb as he kissed a lazy, open-mouthed path down her jaw and she moaned, arching into his touch. </p><p>She needed more. She needed it now. </p><p>And she was in luck. One hand continued to knead her breasts, alternating in its ministrations, while the other snaked lower. Down, down down, skimming her navel and reaching the line of her leggings. </p><p>“Can I…?” His voice came out a raspy, throaty unbelievably sexy baritone. </p><p>She was almost beyond words. Nodding, she said, “Please.”</p><p>His hand left her chest to trace a line down her waist, and then slowly, so slowly, he pulled her leggings down, off her thighs, her knees, her calves, her ankles, and gone. </p><p>She lay completely topless, only her thong remaining. He climbed back up her body and kissed her square on the lips. It was languid and triumphant and erotic.</p><p>His hand skimmed the line of her panties, dipping inside, slipping over skin, until —</p><p>“Feyre?” came a voice from the other room. Groggy, quiet. Not just any voice. Mor’s voice. “Rhys? Are you guys awake? I’m so sorry, I think I need a trash can.”</p><p>Reality crashed back around them. They both froze, and Rhys retracted his hand, using it to brace himself above her. Rhys rested his forehead against hers for the span of one breath. Two. Three. </p><p>“I’ve got this,” he whispered, then pushed lightly off the bed. He leaned in to kiss her once, very softly, then grabbed his shirt and left to help his cousin. </p><p>Feyre sat up quickly. In the closet door mirror she spied herself. Her hair was like a wild nest, ferally tangling around her head. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes wild, her top bare. She wound an arm over her chest, suddenly ashamed.</p><p>She’d been two minutes away from having sex with Rhysand. </p><p>Oh God. </p><p>After all his talk about healing from being cheated on, finally going on a solid date and wanting to pursue something real with this girl, Feyre had wrapped her legs around him and frenched him half to death. While his cousin laid passed out on the couch a room away. Some friend she was. </p><p>Feyre was mortified at what she’d done, and ashamed that even still, she didn’t want to stop. She wanted to jump him again the moment he walked through that door and finish what they started.</p><p>She grabbed her tee shirt and threw it over her head.</p><p>Feyre may have crushed on Rhysand for years, but that didn’t make it okay. She’d always seen him as the friend who matched her wit, who gave her as much shit as she gave him. He’d been that inevitable kind of crush, the one she never acknowledged aloud and would never follow through on, but the possibility would always hang over their conversations. They had a dynamic that was beyond reproach. </p><p>And she’d almost just ruined it all. </p><p>Quickly, before she lost her nerve again, Feyre reached up on tippy toes for the camping cot and the extra pillows and blankets. She set them in a neat pile in the hallway and closed her door. </p><p>Safely under her covers, Feyre tried to regulate her breathing. She had just schooled it back to a reasonable pace when she heard the telltale thumping of his footsteps back down the hall. She saw the shadows of his feet under the door as they paused by the pile of bedding. He hesitated and she strained her ears, only to hear him quietly sigh and grab the cot and blankets. </p><p>She felt like a coward. </p><p>It was better than feeling like a cheater. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Feyre woke to the smell of bacon. The sun was lazy in the sky. Her clock read just past eleven. With a groan, she hauled herself out of bed. She was unbelievably anxious to see Rhys, but her hunger won out. </p><p>“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Mor called, standing over the stove. She flipped the strips of bacon and opened the oven to check on what looked like a tray full of pancakes. </p><p>“Not so loud,” came another voice. Tarquin, Feyre’s roommate, sat at the small table. One hand clutched a mug of black coffee, the other rubbed his forehead. “Not all of us metabolize alcohol like we’re fucking Thor.”</p><p>“Looks like someone had fun last night,” Feyre said, walking to the coffeepot. She grabbed her favorite mug and poured, carefully avoiding looking around the space. She wasn’t ready to face Rhys yet, especially not in front of Mor and Tarquin. </p><p>But she was an adult, and pointedly ignoring him would probably end worse than just saying good morning. So Feyre padded to the table, then turned toward the sofa to say good morning to Rhys. Only, he wasn’t there. </p><p>Feyre’s brows furrowed and she glanced down the short hallway. Tarquin’s door and the bathroom door were both open, empty. </p><p>“Rhys left a little while ago,” Mor said, pulling the tray from the oven. “Said he had to get home for something, I think.” </p><p>Tarquin stood and speared half a dozen of the warm pancakes and plopped them in a stack on his plate. “Yeah, he left as I woke up. He had that obnoxious deep thinking face. You know, the one where he looks constipated.”</p><p>Feyre knew the face well. Rhysand was a textbook worrier. He couldn’t ever just leave an issue alone; he had to puzzle it out from all sides until he understood it. In the process, he tended to take on this furrowed brow, scrunched lip expression that all his friends teased him for mercilessly. </p><p>“Probably my fault,” Mor said. “I doubt talking about his ex was very good for him. Or maybe it was that date he mentioned.”</p><p>Feyre tried to school her features, but still her stomach sank. She’d been nervous about seeing him after last night, but to know that he took off before she woke up was infinitely worse.</p><p>“He left a note on his bedding,” Mor said over her shoulder. She flipped pancakes onto a plate and loaded it with syrup.</p><p>“What’s wrong, babe?” Tarquin asked, reaching for Feyre’s hand. </p><p>“Nothing,” she said, walking to the bedding on phantom feet. </p><p>He’d wrapped up the cot, refolded the blankets, stripped the pillowcase off the pillow, and left it all in a neat pile just as she’d left it for him the night before. Resting on the top was a torn piece of notebook paper. In his hasty, looping scrawl, he’d written <em> I’m sorry </em>. </p><p>“Feyre?” Mor asked. She had that quiet voice that grown ups typically reserved for toddlers having tantrums or animals backed into corners. </p><p>Feyre considered downplaying it, plastering on a fake smile, and going about eating her breakfast. As if nothing happened. But last night didn’t feel like the kind of thing to sweep under a rug; it felt like the kind of night that forever changed things, for better or worse. She could only run so far. </p><p>And he’d left here <em> sorry. </em>He’d left here thinking he’d done something wrong, not her. Regardless of what else happened, she had to set that right. </p><p>“Babe, you’re freaking me out,” Tarquin said. “What’s going on?”</p><p>“I did something really bad,” she whispered, turning around to face them.</p><p>Her face must have said enough abut the guilt and anxiety swirling in her, because Mor set down her utensils and quickly folded up the kitchen towel in her hand. Tarquin abandoned his coffee, and the two of them were on her in a moment, pulling her into a tight hug. Like clockwork.</p><p>“Whatever it is, we will get through it,” Tarquin said.</p><p>“If there are bodies you need hidden, we will hide them,” Mor agreed.</p><p>“Bodies?” Feyre asked. “As in multiple? Jesus, what do you think happened?”</p><p>“I’m just covering all the bases!” Mor said.</p><p>After a beat, Tarquin asked, “What really happened?”</p><p>Feyre sighed. Once she said it, there was no going back. “I almost slept with Rhysand.”</p><p>Tarquin and Mor groaned and stepped back, extricating themselves from the embrace. </p><p>“Where are you going?” Feyre asked. In her time of need…</p><p>“You had me actually scared, Feyre!” Tarquin said.</p><p>“That is the opposite of a problem, you bitch,” Mor said. Hold on — <em> what? </em> “I’ve been trying to get you dumbasses to bone for two and a half years. Why do you think I always invite you both to things? Why do you think you’re always my plus-one to his parties? Why do you think I texted you both to come to a frat house to pick me up at the same time?"</p><p>“You said you were covering all your bases!”</p><p>“Well I <em> lied! </em>” </p><p>“Hold on, hold on,” Tarquin said, throwing his hands out in a stopping motion. “Why ‘almost’? You said ‘almost’ slept with him.”</p><p>Feyre’s cheeks flamed. The thought of rehashing the night’s events in front of Mor was mortifying. She may be Feyre’s best friend, but she would also always be Rhys’s almost-sister, and there were some things sisters didn’t need to know. </p><p>“If you get prudish because of me, I’ll kill you.” Mor narrowed her eyes and pointed a threatening finger at her. “I want details. And I mean <em> details. </em>”</p><p>Tarquin threw a hand up between Feyre and Mor. “Tell us, please, but over breakfast. I’m starving.”</p><p>So they sat, and ate stacks of pancakes, and Feyre told them. Tarquin did that thing he did where he gave absolutely no indication that he was listening. He made zero eye contact, didn’t nod or incline his head, or make any noise. He just stared ahead. Feyre knew from experience this face meant he was actually listening and thinking with intense concentration. </p><p>Mor on the other hand interrupted the story every other sentence, either to ask for clarification, to ask uncomfortably probing questions, or to somehow correct Feyre on how she was wrong, despite the fact that Mor was either seriously drunk or unconscious for the entire evening. She was especially lively when she learned the interruption that drove them apart was Mor herself, needing a bucket for her late-night yak. It took several attempts from both Tarquin and Feyre to calm Mor down after that.</p><p>“I still don’t understand,” Tarquin said finally. “So your problem is that you made out, then changed your mind, kicked him out, and he... left? Isn’t that the ideal outcome after you change your mind about wanting to make out with someone?”</p><p>Feyre scrubbed a hand down her face and speared a forkful of pancake. It tasted horrendously sweet, and had probably four times more vanilla extract than any pancake should have. Mor really was a terrible cook. It was a wonder she even still tried. </p><p>“What about this date?” Mor asked. “Remind me what he said about the date.”</p><p>“He said like, this date made him realize he was done sleeping around. He wanted to commit to this girl.”</p><p>“And then you immediately sex him up,” Tarquin said. “I see your hangup now.”</p><p>“I know as well as anyone what it feels like to come out of that dark bullshit. When someone cheats on you, it fucks you up. It’s a huge deal that he felt well enough to move on. I can’t be the person who keeps him in that dark place, especially not for my own selfish gain.”</p><p>“Bullshit,” Mor said.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“The whole ‘woe is me’ thing is exhausting, babe,” she said. “You have no idea what he meant by that monogamy comment. He’s a self-important intellectual douchebag. The truth is, you’re scared. You closed the door without even talking to him because you’re a coward.”</p><p>“Hey—”</p><p>“And he slipped out the door this morning like an even bigger coward,” Mor continued. “We’ve all been trying to get you together for years, for a reason. Because we all suspect that what you two have, what you <em> could </em> have, is something great. You suspect it too, otherwise you wouldn’t be so fucking scared of it.”</p><p>Tarquin nodded sagely and Feyre hung her head. </p><p>“I owe him an apology at the very least,” Feyre said. As for the rest of what Mor said, she didn’t have enough coffee in her system to even entertain it all. </p><p>“Well then, what are you waiting for?” Tarquin asked. “Go after him.”</p><p>So Feyre did. She brushed her teeth and threw on the nearest clothes and ran out the door. She drove to his place, because she would have too much time alone with her thoughts to second guess this whole thing if she walked. And then she was there, at his doorstep, feeling like a stupid rash imposition, but still she knocked. </p><p>And still, he answered. </p><p>“Feyre?” he asked. </p><p>“I know I should have texted,” she blurted, “but I just had to see you and tell you in person: I’m sorry.”</p><p>He held the door open and she stepped inside. The place was deserted; Azriel and Cassian must have been out.</p><p>“<em> You’re </em> sorry?”</p><p>“Yes, I’m sorry. You gave that whole impassioned speech about moving on from Miryam and settling down with this new person and the last thing I want is to get in the way of that. What I did was selfish and unacceptable, and I’m sorry I shut the door on you last night. All I wanted was for you to come back and finish what we started, but I won’t be the person to stand between you and moving forward.”</p><p>“You…” Rhys said, blinking rapidly. “You’re sorry for kissing me. Not because you didn’t want to, but because you thought you were getting in the way of me moving on. Do I have that correct?”</p><p>Feyre shifted, suddenly embarrassed. </p><p>“I—yes. You had just gone on that date, and I—”</p><p>Rhys cut off her words with his lips on hers. Kissing him again was just as breathtakingly magical as the first time. Her hands wound around to grasp his hair and <em> tug. </em> </p><p>He pulled away too soon, breathing hard. His eyes bore into hers. </p><p>“Now I’m confused,” she said.</p><p>“You’re confused?” He laughed. The sound rumbled down every plane of his body, reverberating into hers. </p><p>“Yes,” she huffed, pushing against his chest. “What about all that talk about monogamy?”</p><p>“Well, I’m game for it if you are,” he said, grinning from ear to ear. </p><p>Her brain short-circuited. “What about the other girl…?”</p><p>“Feyre,” he said, speaking her name like a prayer, “there never was another girl. I mean, yes, I went on a date with someone. But there was no connection for either of us.”</p><p>“I don’t understand.”</p><p>“All this time, I’ve been sleeping around and wasting my time, because the person I really wanted was you.”</p><p>“M—me?”</p><p>“Yes, you. When I said the date made me realize I was done with all that, I meant it. I was sitting across from this girl, who was very nice but not at all interested in me. And every moment I wished it was you. I’m done with casual. I’m done pretending to be satisfied with all that. From the very beginning, it’s been you.”</p><p>“You prick,” she said. “All this time I thought you didn’t want me. I thought you were experienced enough that I didn’t interest you.”</p><p>“Is that your subtle way of telling me you think I’m a whore?”</p><p>“No, dumbass. It’s my subtle way of saying I wanted you too.”</p><p>This time, she leaned in and kissed him. It was slower, and softer, and tasted like the beginning of something great.</p>
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